


The Monster Does His Part

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Monster Under The Bed [3]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Caretaking, Clarence comes to visit and Venus isn't allowed to cook ever, Domestic Fluff, Friendship/Love, Geoffrey cares for his overdramatic charge, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan gets the flu and thinks he's dying, M/M, No vampires, Protectiveness, Recovery, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24675028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Once again, Jonathan was reminded of the professional failings of his own human condition. Even during this mandatory break, he still lacked the common sense to actually take a break. In doing so, he has succumbed to a very mortal flaw. Between exhaustion and stress, the human body was susceptible to a sudden decrease in immunity and a weakness against foreign invaders into its system.-----------------Jonathan gets sick and Geoffrey is left to care for his idiot charge.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: Monster Under The Bed [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760143
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	The Monster Does His Part

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 is brought to you by the encouragement of the Vampyr discord server and Doomsayer(oowfeels) request for a Sick Fic with McReid.
> 
> I hope this is satisfactory! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. This one is going up a little late on the account that the power kept going out while I was writing so yeah, it's a bit late.

It was strange no matter how Jonathan saw it. Maybe it was the fact he was more aware of his surroundings now than he was before. It didn't take away from the fact that the constant presence looming over his shoulder remained vigilant and watchful of his every move. He couldn't see the eyes that watched him behind the shroud but he could feel them through the thinning fabric. The way the specter tilted its head and followed him around the room. Sometimes he would trail right behind him and other times he would keep his distance like a trained observer.

He supposed the most unsettling part about it was when the specter would touch him without prompting. A hand on the shoulder or a brush of fingers against his back as if it were natural and normal. The more he thought on it, maybe it was and he was just ignorant of the specter's everyday routine presence. Thinking back, he could draw upon the conclusion that yes, he had encountered so many phantom sensations throughout his life that maybe not all of them were coincidence or a trick of the mind.

Right now, his back spasmed in recognition that  _ someone  _ was too close to his personal space. He could feel the tightening muscles in the center of his spine, that inherent alarm of instinct directing him that an unfamiliar presence was in his proverbial bubble. The soft brush of a hand against his shoulder blades drew a startling shiver down his spine as the specter smoothed its palm along his back and dispersed that uneasy tension. His shoulders relaxed as he slumped over his desk in defeat. Any attempt to get work done was thwarted by the continued silence and the unannounced guest who would come and go from his peripheral as he pleased.

It still took a bit for Jonathan to get accustomed to the fact the specter wasn't just  _ leaving  _ and reappearing again. He was always there. Jonathan just lost sight of him from time to time. He was still learning to recognize the specter for what he was in the variables of his environment. The tickle of a breath at the back of his neck, the draft of wings in the air, the gentle pressure to a twinging nerve or a curl of fingers through his hair ghosting over the tips of the wayward strands when weariness had started to tempt him towards sleep. It was these gentle coaxing sensations that he had been trained to obey by his silent caretaker. Directives he knew nothing about that decided when and where he should turn his attention towards.

The soft caress of a hand on his cheek when sleep pulled heavy against his eyelids would guide him towards his bed. The gentle touch of fingertips against his beard was a silent reminder that in his hyper fixated state, he had forgotten to shave or trim it to a manicured and socially acceptable appearance. A subtle tug on his clothes would deter him from forgoing changing and just sleeping in his nicer garments. He would trudge through the wiles of his own exhaustion to roll through the motions of slipping on something more comfortable for a better night's sleep.

Jonathan scrubbed a palm across his cheek and stifled a dry cough in his throat as he foraged around in his thoughts for something he could focus on instead. The specter loomed with a wilting concern in its posture but remained ever silent as the doctor finally stood up and vacated his room. He was only halfway through the first week of the mandatory two week break Edgar placed him on. It was exhausting having so much free time with nothing to do, as odd as that may sound.

He descended the steps towards the kitchen on the ground floor, guided by the lowly growl of his stomach that reminded him that he had yet to make himself lunch and he barely consumed anything for breakfast that was substantial. A few bites of toast with tea was worthy of being scolded by the specter that glared at him over the table. Jonathan had ignored the skeptical looks as he focused on the newest book he added to his collection.

Normally he would have something light and fast out of habit but given he currently had all the time in the world, he could relish in a little more detailed cooking. It had been a long time since he donned an apron and cooked something large and filling. He supposed, the last time he had done so was Christmas dinner with his mother. They worked together in the kitchen all evening and he aided her as shaky hands tried to navigate the complex measurements of each ingredient. Jonathan directed her to take a seat while he did the work and she told him stories from her childhood and the early days when Aubrey courted her in their whirlwind youthful romance.

Jonathan felt that twisting pang of remorse digging into his chest at the memory. He both adored and was devastated by the bittersweet memories that assaulted him since the passing of his family. 

He peeled vegetables and diced them up into small bite sized cubes to be cooked down and softened in the pan. A base simmered in a pot while he prepared the meat with a sharp knife. He carved it into chunks with expert skill. He supposed a scalpel and a butcher knife weren't entirely that much different as long as one knew how to properly use it for the end result. In some twisted macabre way, one could be a chef or a surgeon with an intimate knowledge of both diverse ingredients and anatomy.

With the stew started and all the ingredients gathered in the pot to cook down, the doctor started on his mother's recipe for bread that he cherished. A taste of nostalgia to get him through the cold winters and a pick me up from his childhood. A bit of sugar folded into the dough added a sweetness that melted in the mouth and paired wonderfully with the savory flavors of the stew. A brush of honey across the top crust before it baked was an additional sweet promise.

While he waited for it to finish cooking, he cleaned up and set his apron aside to be washed later. A quick trip to his room as he gathered a few items and returned back downstairs. He sat at the table with the current book he was reading but turned his attention instead towards the piece of paper and pen he had brought with him. He tapped the margin thoughtfully as he tried to construct a new series of questions for the specter to answer while they waited.

The thought dawned on him rather shamefully as he wrote the first question onto paper. He was regretful to realize this was not among the first questions he had asked the specter and felt terribly put off by his own rudeness.

_ Do you have a name? _

He wrote it in carefully scripted lettering and slid the paper towards the seat adjacent to his. He pushed the chair out in invitation for the specter to join him at the table instead of standing in corners like a cryptic boogeyman. It was somewhat unsettling behavior now that he could see him more often than not.

He watched as the being adjusted his jacket as he took a seat, making himself comfortable before taking up the pen and writing in concise shorthand answers.

_ Geoffrey _

Jonathan read the name over twice, inspecting the freshly inked lines that now formally introduced him to the being that haunted him. Geoffrey. He rolled the word around across his tongue with a smile of approval.

"It's a pleasure to properly meet you Geoffrey." He bowed his head with a subtle bob. He cradled his chin in his palm as he leaned against the table and thought about other questions he could ask. He glanced towards the stew pot where it boiled and steamed away on the stove top.

_ Can you eat food like normal people? _

He wrote it a bit more quickly this time and pushed the paper and pen towards Geoffrey so he could answer. It took far longer for the specter to answer this time as his head tilted in what he could only assume was puzzlement. He held the pen in hand and bobbed it between his fingers thoughtfully as he constructed a response. In the meantime Jonathan got up to stir the pot and check in the bread. The kitchen was rife with delicious smells that rejuvenated his ravenous appetite, one of which he had been ignoring for several days. 

When he returned to take his seat, Geoffrey had slid the paper towards him with his answer.

_ Yes but it's not necessary in this world. In my world, I need sustenance as all living beings do. But here I am not bound to the same laws that dictate your lives. _

"Fascinating. What is your world like, I wonder." Jonathan sighed wistfully, mournful that he couldn't see this strange other world that Geoffrey came from. The specter just slowly shook his head in answer which left Jonathan mildly confused. Was there a way for Geoffrey to explain it or was that among one of the aforementioned rules that dictated what they could and couldn't do here.

It was all so incredibly enthralling to ponder.

Jonathan rolled the new information around in his head while he waited. Part way through, Geoffrey vanished from sight leaving the doctor to his own devices as he cracked open his book and listened and occasionally checked the clock. The bread was finished shortly before the stew as Jonathan set the loaf on a rack to cool. The crust was crispy and tantalizing with the honey baked into it. His hunger roared in protest against waiting even a moment longer but he quelled his impatience and reached for the dishes in the cabinet.

Maybe it was loneliness or maybe it was years of compassionate hospitality woven into him by his mother and her fragile yet generous heart. Either way, when Jonathan settled into his seat again, he had placed a bowl of stew and a slice of bread on a saucer before both himself and Geoffrey's seat. He couldn't see the specter at the moment but he could feel that familiar sensation of eyes resting upon him, even as he stirred a spoon through the broth and chunks of tender vegetables and cubes of cooked meat. The steam rolled up in waves and greeted his nostrils with such delicious smells.

The meal was satisfying and sated that underlying hunger that had gnawed at him for days, barely held at bay by the scant morsels he offered himself in lieu of a proper meal. For a doctor, it pained him to acknowledge that he took terrible care of his own health in the long run. The irony was startling but also a common problem in his profession.

He had just finished up, wiping his mouth clean and gathering his bowl and plate when a firm knock came at the door. Jonathan set the dishes to rest in the bottom of the sink and headed for the front door where a courier waited quietly to impart a letter to him from an old colleague from his days studying in France. He smiled gratefully and tucked the envelope into his pocket to read later that evening. Returning to the kitchen, he paused in his tracks to find that the dishes he left for Geoffrey had completely vanished. There was no sign of them anywhere in the kitchen and that similar uneasy presence of being watched was vacant. The room felt terribly empty, absent of the friendly static that seemed to crackle across his skin whenever the specter was near. He slowly eased into the room and reminded himself to clean up, putting the leftovers away where they were properly stored for later and setting the now clean dishes in the drying rack.

Later in the evening, Jonathan would return for a cup of tea to find an additional set of dishes rested beside the first where they had been freshly scrubbed and left to air dry. The piece of paper from their earlier conversation was set upon the table with two words scrawled across it.

**Thank you**

  
  
  
  


Once again, Jonathan was reminded of the professional failings of his own human condition. Even during this mandatory break, he still lacked the common sense to  _ actually take a break.  _ In doing so, he has succumbed to a very mortal flaw. Between exhaustion and stress, the human body was susceptible to a sudden decrease in immunity and a weakness against foreign invaders into its system.

He was no different in that respect and he was painfully reminded of that when he awoke the next morning with a raw scratchy throat and a pulsating headache behind his eyes. He rummaged through his cabinets for his mother's special box of herbal tea to help soothe the soreness of his throat and hoped to will away his headache with a minor dose of aspirin.

The afternoon was spent running errands around London and visiting an old colleague to catch up for old time's sake. He picked up a few orders for his most recent project, most of it was replacement parts for his tools and a few ingredients he lacked that needed to be specially ordered from a pharmacist.

As evening drew near, the headache returned and his sore throat still hadn't faded so he repeated the ritual after dinner before getting ready for bed. He stayed up late into the evening reading the book he had been working on until it was finished and turned in a little bit after midnight. The next day was a similar result with a subtle and uncomfortable scratchiness that burned with every coarse swallow. He massaged the corners of his eyes and fretted against the continued weariness that besieged him. All the while blatantly ignoring the pointed looks Geoffrey directed his way. It was amazing how expressive one could be without actually revealing their face. The man was tense as he followed Jonathan throughout the day and prodded at him with determined interruptions.

The doctor's patience was wearing thin when the specter started stealing his tools and hiding the things he needed for his work. After the third time he had to hunt for a screwdriver, he was at his wits end.

"Will you cut it out?!" He blurted in frustration, whirling on the specter where he lingered infuriatingly close to his side and constantly in the corner of his vision. For some reason, it was incredibly distracting today as compared to usual.

Geoffrey just stiffened at the outburst before folding his arms across his chest in silent opposition. Jonathan sighed heavily and got up to go for a walk. The weather was nice, the sun was shining and the park was an enticing excuse to get some fresh air and peace away from his problems.

The universe didn't appear to agree with this sentiment as London's fickle and unpredictable weather rolled in halfway through his walk. The sun vanished behind the thick blanket of clouds before opening up in a torrent of rain that pelted the streets and beat mercilessly against the roof of the pavilion the doctor took shelter in. The wind whipped a cold chill down his back as the rain continued with no sign of ending anytime soon. Without any real choice in the matter, Jonathan pulled his coat firmly around himself and hunched his shoulders to somewhat defend himself from mother nature's vicious fury and raced all the way back home.

He was thoroughly soaked like an alley cat, chest heaving with the bitter sting burning in his lungs with each great gulping breath for air. His chest ached as he shucked off his soaked coat and trudged in defeat back up the steps to change into dry comfortable clothes. He didn't have the energy for anything more the rest of the evening as he flopped upon his bed and buried his face into the pillows. He had enough lingering wits to start a fire in the fireplace before crawling into bed to try and ward off the waves of shivering that defied his pitiful efforts.

Maybe he should have heeded the concerned glances Geoffrey directed at him. The gentle hands that tugged on his sleeve to garner his attention that he so stubbornly ignored. Maybe it would have made a difference but by the next morning, Jonathan realized his mistake far too late.

The throbbing headache and sore throat were the least of his worries as nausea and chills racked his body in violent shivers that didn't recede. Sometime in the night he became aware that Geoffrey had added two more blankets to the already growing pile stretched across his body. Jonathan curled up into a tight ball and buried his face into the pillow with a moan of anguish. He had no desire to leave his bed as he hunkered down and coughed but his own restlessness and biological needs demanded otherwise as he shuffled to the bathroom to retrieve his bathrobe and a spare blanket to drape over his shoulders and force off the chill. Leaving his room was something he regretted as the rest of the large empty home remained far colder than he anticipated.

The floorboards creaked with an ominous groan as he shuffled down the stairs with a strong hand gripping the railing. A cup of warm tea was all he could keep down and the only thing he had any desire to actually put effort into making. He tried for a pack of biscuits but after the first bite, he grimaced and spit it into the trash with a foul expression. He set the empty tea cup in the sink to be washed later and shuffled back up the steps to his room. He had to stop when he reached the top of the stairs to heave in a breath in his aching chest and made his way back to his room. 

Any attempts at being even mildly productive fell flat. He couldn't focus. He couldn't think. His hands trembled and he fumbled with the tools and drifted off into long expanses of silent staring before drawing back to the task he started. The chills that raced across his body were a relentless and constant presence even with the fire burning in the hearth with a steady heat filling the room.

Eventually he gave into the gentle hand that gripped his shoulder and guided him back to bed with a strange tenderness. Jonathan had forgotten that Geoffrey was still hovering over his shoulder even as he ignored him and grumbled his displeasure previously. The man caressed his face as he studied the flushed rosy hue to his cheeks and across his forehead. The doctor shivered and buried his face into the pillow as he coughed and shuddered hard. Every rough cough split pain through his throat and left a lingering wheeze that burrowed down into his aching lungs.

He tossed and turned with increasing discomfort and misery throughout the day. Small bursts of sleep coiled around him while Geoffrey sat vigilant by his side. When Jonathan awoke with a mad half blind scramble for the bathroom where he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, the specter was a firm comforting hand against his back as he rubbed small circles between his shoulder blades. He offered a cold damp washcloth to the doctor when he drew away and patted the burning heat of his face to soothe the worst of it.

He was the supportive arm that helped him back to the sanctuary of his bed and kept the fire going in the hearth. Jonathan heaved a heavy raspy breath as he laid in misery, gazing blankly up at the ceiling with one arm pressed to his forehead. The washcloth was strewn between his hand and his face as the cool droplets slid down his face and dampened his hairline.

Maybe it was the fever that had taken hold of him but he swore he could almost see the details of Geoffrey's face through the thin fabric of the shroud. He could make out the concerned pinch of his brow and a pair of eyes that gazed through the crimson veil. The specter leaned over him as he caressed the side of the doctor's face with sympathy. The hand withdrew to brush fingertips over his brow and gently closed his eyelids in a silent command to sleep. His fingers lingered against Jonathan's cheek before it withdrew to adjust the layers of blankets that kept him warm.

With the dizzy swells that made the room spin and his consciousness completely tip off the edge in a nosedive, he was quickly swept away into the merciful embrace of sleep. He roused long enough to the brush of fingers along his jaw and a hand braced against his back. Jonathan was barely lucid enough to recognize the fact he had been propped up to a seated position with a warm firm body resting on the edge of the bed. Cold water was coaxed in small sips into his mouth reviving his immense thirst. The one guiding him kept each amount carefully measured before slowly guiding him to lie back down. His eyelids fluttered, catching the small shadows that lurked in the darkness of his room. The firelight illuminated the dancing imps along the walls as London's unpredictable weather pelted the roof and window in the patter of fat furious raindrops. Thunder rumbled like the growl of a great beast barking and snarling across the sky in a ravenous hunt. Through it all, the doctor could feel the light pressure of fingers curled around his as he drifted back to sleep.

  
  
  
  


"Jonny?" Jonathan heard his name echoing from downstairs, a press of syllables that slowly tugged him from his sleep. He drew in a regretfully sharp breath and hacked hard as he choked on it. Every heave for air sparked pain and fire in his aching lungs. His entire body quaked with the force of each gasping blow until he finally managed a sound inhale. His head pulsed angrily behind his eyes and throbbed in a skull cracking agony that pulled a mournful moan from his chapped lips.

"Jonny, are you alright?" He blinked a few times into the smoky haze of his vision to disband the bleariness that veiled the world in distorted lumps and unfamiliar shapes. He tipped his head what little he could with the pillow's support to find Clarence standing in his doorway with a worried look on his face. "Oh, Jonny. You look terrible. How long have you been like this?"

In truth, he didn't know. Time warped around him between bursts of sleep and the ever vigilant specter that woke him to small hopeful attempts to drink fluids. His skin was flushed and sweaty, his clothes clung to him all over as sweat beaded and soaked into the fabric and yet he still felt so cold. Like he was steeped in an ice bath. Another bout of shivers rolled through him as he shuddered and groaned.

"Clarence?" His voice was a brittle whisper barely making it past his lips. The sound alone pinched his friend's face into a mask of concern. The slight man approached his bedside, shutting the door behind himself and adjusting the collar of his shirt at his neck.

"It's like an inferno in here." Clarence mumbled. He reached out to press the back of his hand to Jonathan's forehead. The cold touch was startling against the fire burning beneath his skin. "You're burning up Jonny. Christ, you're all alone like this." Jonathan tipped his head weakly to cover his face with the edge of the blanket as he coughed once more. He struggled through the flem that built up in his throat and threatened to suffocate him with every shallow breath.

Clarence winced sympathetically and glanced around with a pained expression. "I'll be right back, okay. I think I have an idea to help you feel better. Hold on Jonny!" Clarence's promise lingered as the man slipped back out the bedroom door. Jonathan blinked slowly and let his head fall back with another groan. His vision spun as he stared at the ceiling with sharp shallow gasps for air as he willed the pain away that blossomed like thorns curled into his lungs, their barbed hooks climbing up his windpipe and filling his throat.

The visage of Geoffrey loomed above him like an Angel of Reckoning. The Reaper for Jonathan's foolish demise. His hand pressed against the doctor's forehead and placed the damp cloth back over the heated skin. The small cool droplets raced down his face like a mockery of tears as he whimpered through another fit of coughing and curled up under the oppressive weight of quilts and throw blankets.

Jonathan slipped into another episode of strange dreams and fractured wisps of memories in scant traces. Flashes of Geoffrey by his side, the shuddering flap of blackened wings spread over him as the specter straddled his waist. Warm fingers caressing the side of his face as they carded through his sweat soaked and messy hair. The crimson shroud felt more like an ominous promise now as it loomed close to his face. He could see the outlines of a concerned expression drawn hard in sharp curves and strong angles. Whatever fear he may have felt when he first encountered the specter was absent now but those same thoughts that this shadow of death would eventually claim him before the end of this illness could see its course returned. He didn't feel any ounce of worry by this, as he would gratefully accept any form of peace from this miserable existence he found himself wasting away in.

It was in these fleeting moments that he recalled a distant memory of a similar nature. The bad bug had spread through the ranks like wildfire during the war and Jonathan was no different to the men he treated. He had tried to endure the worst of it and continue tending to patients until one evening he collapsed from exhaustion and dehydration. He remembered a figure standing over him in similar military garb as they urged him to drink fluids and take medication. He assumed it was one of the men that helped the staff around the hospital tents but now it felt far more intimate as his realization dawned on him.

"You…." he rasped, a broken sound from his lips. The shroud tipped in acknowledgement. "You were… uh...with me." He drew in a short breath before exhaling roughly. "-during the war." There was a slow nod of confirmation, a curt bob of the specter's head. He raised his fingers to press to his lips in a silent command. His other hand traced from his brow over his eyelids. Jonathan didn't have the energy to refuse the command and let himself fall back to the mercy of sleep.

The next time he awoke, there were two figures standing above him. Geoffrey, who looked at odds with the second man if the upset set of his shoulders and the folded posture of his arms was anything to go by. The much smaller and thinner man at his side was none other than Clarence who currently held a thermos in his hand and was speaking his name softly.

"I brought you something to help you feel better, Jonny. Venus always makes this for me when I'm under the weather." He chimed cheerfully. The firm shake of Geoffrey's head in refusal was a cause for concern. Jonathan wasn't exactly put off by Venus' cooking but it was definitely strange and more often than not, he would politely decline with a carefully guarded lie. This felt like one of those times of necessity.

"Maybe later, Clarence." He murmured and shifted beneath the blankets. He was weak, as if all his strength had been drained from his limbs leaving them heavy and sluggish. Geoffrey moved to assist him but was interrupted by Clarence. He was forced to take a step back to avoid colliding with the man on accident and folded his arms over his chest once more in mild annoyance. "Lavatory." Jonathan grunted as Clarence helped him pull back the layers of blankets to free his legs. They very nearly buckled beneath him but his friend had a firm hold on his arm as he guided him towards the bathroom door.

Clarence politely waited outside while Jonathan addressed his biological needs and leaned over the sink as the water ran for several minutes. He could barely stand on his own. The world slipped in and out of his vision as if he were sitting on a small boat in a vast ocean, riding tidal waves and raging swells that threatened to swallow him up. He splashed cold water on his face and dried it off with a clean towel before shuffling his way back towards his bed. Clarence aided him with a guiding hand on his back and concern in his eyes.

"Do you need anything Jonny? Anything at all?" Clarence asked fretfully. Jonathan looked towards the empty tea cup that sat on the nightstand. The faint dark stains at the bottom of the cup were the evidence of Geoffrey's presence during his misery. He swallowed hard around the swollen and jagged texture of his throat. 

Clarence followed his gaze towards the cup and offered a gentle smile. "Tea. I can make you some tea. I'll be right back." He assured before Jonathan could stop him. He collected the dishes before darting out the door like an excited child eager to please. He supposed he shouldn't worry. If there was anything Clarence could do well in the kitchen, it was tea.

He settled back into the pile of pillows and groaned from the twinge of muscles in his stiff back. The doctor wasn't accustomed to laying around so much and his body was protesting his continued rest. Meanwhile if he stood up, it would threaten to keel him over. He tossed and turned in an attempt to get comfortable before giving up altogether. He glanced up when Geoffrey approached the bed and took a seat beside him. His head tilted thoughtfully as he pressed his hand against Jonathan's forehead.

The fever was fading and the worst of his ordeal had passed. He was still too weak to move about on his own, he knew this for a fact. Along with the painful realization that he hadn't eaten hardly anything at all the whole time he was bedridden. He glanced towards the thermos with a curiosity as he reached out towards the canister and unscrewed the lid. Geoffrey reached out to stop him when the noxious smell of whatever beastly concoction was inside the thermos hit his nostrils. He very nearly dropped it in a frantic attempt to put the lid back on it before he started to gag. Geoffrey's hands overlapped his and quickly screwed it back on tight before setting it aside. He shook his head at the doctor who agreed with the conclusion. Whatever vile recipe Venus used for Clarence's sick day soup, it was a wonder the man was still up and walking around.

He sighed and settled into the blankets, his hand rubbed over his eyes, the lids heavy with the pull of more sleep but aching from far too much of it. Even the light from the fireplace was almost too much for his sensitive and weary gaze. He blinked against it and let his head fall back, staring up at the shadows that cast across the ceiling and stretched up along the walls in a puppet show.

Clarence returned with a fresh cup of tea with a mixture of honey stirred through it to help with his throat. Jonathan sat up to accept the warm drink while Clarence pulled the chair from his desk around to the side of his bed. He watched his friend with a hopeful expression and gave a nervous smile. The warmth soothed the worst of the scratchiness in his throat and helped ease the inflammation down some.

"Thank you." He grunted as he cleared his throat. He rubbed at his neck thoughtfully feeling out the flushed skin for any signs of external swelling. It was strange doing an examination on himself as he gauged the extent of his woes in his recovery. "What brought you by, Clarence?"

"Oh, um, I was just on my way home from church and thought I'd stop to say hello." 

_ Church? _ Jonathan thought with confusion before he realized what Clarence meant. It was Sunday. He had spent three days besieged by the fever and the turmoil that accompanied it. It was no wonder he hurt so much all over if he spent three solid days in bed. He glanced towards where Geoffrey still sat on the edge of his bed and nodded in confirmation as if he sensed his distress at the realization.

"You alright Jonny?" Clarence inquired at the growing silence. He followed his friend's wayward glances and frowned with a look of concern before it dawned on him. "Wait, can you see it right now? Is he here?"

Jonathan sighed and scrubbed his face with a defeated sigh, setting the now empty tea cup aside on the nightstand. "He is. He has been the entire time, Clarence."

Clarence glanced around the room anxiously and waved a nervous hand in greeting, following the doctor's line of sight as a direction towards the specter. "Hello. Thank you for watching over my best friend. He really means a lot to me."

Geoffrey just tipped his head in a heavy sigh and shook it dismissively. He looked towards Jonathan and offered a half hearted salute in response. "I believe he says hello." Jonathan translated. "He doesn't speak so I'm not entirely certain."

"Mine sometimes speaks, I hear whispers like he's singing but the song sounds so far away and so lonely." Clarence explained nervously.. "Since I was here last, I saw him sitting at the table across from me that evening. He was just watching me through the blindfold."

He shrugged. "I think he's just really shy."

Jonathan's attention was split between Clarence as he told him his story and Geoffrey who crossed his arms and nodded in agreement with the man's words. "Can you see his specter?" Jonathan asked after a moment, his question directed at Geoffrey who nodded again. He gestured behind Clarence with a dismissive hand but Jonathan couldn't see anything there. Clarence stared at him puzzled before following Jonathan's gaze and jerking in the seat with a startled cry. He gasped dramatically with his hand resting on his chest to steady his racing heart. Geoffrey chuckled in amusement, a breathy sound that came in sharp puffs. He could almost see the outline of a crooked smile behind the shroud, his it twisted in the darkened shadows around his face.

The rest of Clarence's visit consisted of them talking, trading information about their specters and stories of the times they had caught glimpses of them. Jonathan recalled when Geoffrey had taken care of him in the hospital tents during the war and protected him when a German convoy approached the hospital during an evacuation. He remembered the first time he killed a man in defense of his patients and the staff that filled the ranks by his side. The hand that settled like a heavy weight upon his shoulder and urged him to stand up and keep pushing on. Geoffrey kept him safe throughout the fire fight until the enemy was forced to retreat. There had been losses, that went without saying. Men and women caught in the crossfire as they defended the wounded and weary. Soldiers half bandaged and laid up brandishing firearms in defense of their brethren incapacitated in the cots beside them.

Geoffrey had stayed by his side through it all. Just as he had said, he was always there with him. Watching him with eyes that don't see and guiding him with gentle hands and a firm directive. He was thankful for that, especially now when credit was due and he could finally meet the being who had been through it all with him.

When Clarence left, the sun was slipping behind the horizon and he mumbled about Venus and needing to return home. There was a quiet reminder for Jonathan to eat something with a pointed shake of the thermos. Jonathan politely declined with the easy excuse that his stomach wasn't prepared for that yet. Clarence conceded and left with a small smile on his face and an awkward wave to the specter still seated by Jonathan's side.

In his absence, Geoffrey promptly stood up, picked up the thermos and stepped out onto the balcony. It was through the window by his bed that Jonathan watched the specter dump the contents of the thermos over the edge with a disgusted tilt of his head and the barest outline of a grimace behind the shroud. He screwed the cap back in when he entered and set it back down with a scowl on his face. It softened with the light hearted laughter that rose in the doctor's throat. 

"You can't really blame him for trying. Clarence is a kind soul but good intentions don't always extend into good actions." He nodded towards the thermos to punctuate his point. Geoffrey scoffed and folded his arms over his chest as he inspected the chair still sitting by the bed. His foot bobbed a few times impatiently before he sat up and moved it back towards the desk where it belonged. It was safe to say that his specter was about as compulsive as he was.

A few hours passed as Geoffrey vanished from view and Jonathan started to doze off once more, worn out by the excitement of his friend's visit. Clarence promised to stop by the next day to check on him to which Jonathan was only mildly anticipating. Keeping company in this state was a taxing thought but this was Clarence after all. He was his best friend and despite his nervous demeanor that could sometimes be draining on its own, he did enjoy the companionship. The real _human_ companionship.

Being alone all this time was possibly the most insufferable part of his unprompted illness. He missed people while simultaneously was exhausted by the presence of just one. It was a perplexing conundrum that was sated only by the invisible caretaker that tended to him.

When Jonathan woke later, it was to the smell of warm stew and a slice of the bread he had made in the days prior. A drizzle of honey softened the bread and was accompanied by another cup of hot tea. The doctor dragged himself to sit upright as the tray was placed in his lap, balanced steadily on his thighs. It was accompanied by the second volume of the book he had been reading before he fell ill. Something of which he greatly appreciated in the specter's thoughtfulness.

Maybe it wasn't all so bad? He may not be human but he had done far more for him and in a way that no human could ever contest with. Jonathan relished in the quiet companionship as Geoffrey took his spot up on the edge of the bed and watched over his charge with a fond expression as he encouraged him to eat and build his strength back up. The prognosis was looking good to say the least. He held the bowl in his grasp allowing it to warm his palms as he smiled softly to himself. 

"Thank you for everything." He murmured, the roughness of his throat still stifled his words but the sincerity was still palpable. Geoffrey tipped his head in a show of understanding and reached out to caress the doctor's cheek in a fond stroke of fingers through his beard. He dropped his hand to gesture at the cooling bowl of soup with a pointed look that drew a dry chuckle from the doctor as he submitted to the wisdom of his specter.

**Author's Note:**

> Clarence's monster is my Priwen OC Mary McKinley
> 
> Everyone is pretty much surprised that Clarence is still alive after eating whatever it was that Venus makes him. Seriously, Venus, stop trying to kill your husband. 
> 
> Geoffrey took the meal that Jonathan made him over to his world so he could actually eat it, then came back and washed the dishes for him because he has manners.


End file.
